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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244286">rebirth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacia096/pseuds/Acacia096'>Acacia096</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Homestuck - Freeform, Introspection, Journey to the green sun, One-Sided Crush, Troll Romance (Homestuck), Trolls (Homestuck), spaceship, wlw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:02:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacia096/pseuds/Acacia096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aradia Megido is in an inexorable state of change.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aradia Megido/Terezi Pyrope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>rebirth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>spoilers for Aradia’s story. constructive criticism is wanted :D. Also read the tags. Sorry if it’s not clear but it’s from Terezi’s perspective.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An archaeologist should be gloomy, you think. A mortuary scientist all the same. But she teems with awkward, precarious soft smiles, and cloyingly cordial greetings. When she thrusts her arm forward in a swift, perfunctory movement; you feel yourself reluctantly shake her sun-kissed, calloused palms. And although her patchwork skirt is mangled and muddy and her hair much too matted, you couldn’t be one to judge<br/>
—-</p><p>The next time you see (<em>smell)</em> her, the oily scent weighs heavy on your tongue. Her whirring ebbs away into the entropy of the shuttle. Of the game.</p><p>The dulled edges of her torso sheens metallic under the tawdry, plasma shine of light. As her mouth flexes agape idly, her synthetic lips smell of a familiar, empty blueberry. You feel your hand press on a callous, vacuous chest as artificial hair brushes real finger pads. When you think she won’t react, a monotone voice croaks as the encasing around her chassis turns away.</p><p> </p><p>——</p><p>When you see her again, ivory lace lines the burgundy of her pants. A smile presses itself upon cherry red lip gloss as she greets the others. And when carnelian eyes furtively stare, you find yourself longing for something. For those warmer, calloused palms. For your youth. For the past.</p><p>And at last, you feel forlorn teal-flushed palms reach for the inky night as scintillating wings disappear.</p>
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